village called "down to the
neck," and when the Captain arrived there, he found the parlor filled
with the devout, who were somewhat surprised to see him.

"Why, how do you do?" said Mrs. Small, resplendent in black "alpaca" and
wearing her jet earrings. "I snum if you ain't a stranger! We'll have a
reel movin' meetin' to-night because Mr. Perley's here, and he says
he feels the sperrit a-workin'. Set right down there by the what-not.
Luther," to her oldest but three, "give Cap'n Hedge your chair. You can
set on the cricket. Yes, you can! Don't answer back!"

"Aw, ma!" burst out the indignant Luther, "how d'yer think I'm goin' to
set on that cricket? My laigs 'll be way up under my chin. Make Hart set
on it; he's shorter'n me."

"Shan't nuther, Lute Small!" declared Hartwell, a freckle-faced
youngster, who was the next step downward in the family stair of
children. "Set on it yourself. Make him, ma, now! You said he'd have
to."

"Now, ma, I--"

"Be still, both of you! I sh'd think you'd be ashamed, with everybody
here so! Oh, my soul and body!" turning to the company, "if it ain't
enough to try a saint! Sometimes seems's if I SHOULD give up. You be
thankful, Abigail," to Miss Mullett, who sat by the door, "that you
ain't got nine in a family and nobody to help teach 'em manners. If
Barzilla was like most men, he'd have some dis-CIP-line in the house;
but no, I have to do it all, and--"

Mr. Small, thus publicly rebuked, rose from his seat in the corner by
the melodeon and proclaimed in a voice that he tried hard not to make
apologetic:

"Now, Luther, if I was you I'd be a good boy and mind ma."

Even this awe-inspiring command had little effect upon the reluctant
Luther, but Captain Eri, who, smiling and bowing right and left, had
been working his passage to the other side of the room, announced
that he was all right and would "squeeze in on the sofy 'side of Cap'n
Baxter." So there was peace once more, that is, as much peace as half a
dozen feminine tongues, all busy with different subjects, would allow.

"Why, Eri" whispered John Baxter, "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm
glad, though; Lord knows every God-fearin' man in this town has need to
be on his knees this night. Have you heard about it?"

"Cap'n John means about the rum-sellin' license that Web Saunders has
got," volunteered Miss Melissa Busteed, leaning over from her seat in
the patent rocker that had been the premium earned by Mrs. Small for